


Patient, M.D.

by changdori (janie6789)



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie6789/pseuds/changdori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yunho is a doctor. He also has cancer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Yunho! We have patients lined up here, let's go!"

I grip the patient's chart so hard that my fingertips turn white, and I grit my teeth to steady myself.

_Three more hours. Three more hours and you can go home._

My body isn't helping, hasn't been for the last couple weeks. I always feel weak, and I must have caught something from the patients, because I know I have a fever. I have cold sweats all over my back, all the time, and really, I just feel like shit.

But I refuse to let the long hours get to me.

I am living my dream. I am finally finished with school and all the crappy jobs that I had to work in between to pay for school, and now I am finally here, standing proudly as an emergency medicine resident here at Samsung Hospital, _the_ biggest and best hospital in the country. They work all of us residents like dogs because they know we're cheap labour who don't have the option to quit. The only consolation is that I know that it would only be for a few more years, then I will be the one to order the new residents around the emergency room and driving a BMW. But until then, I am at the bottom of the food chain, trying to please my attending physicians.

So I do all I can do. I take a deep breath and will myself to forget that I feel like shit. I compose my face so that I wouldn't scare the patient into thinking I'm incompetent, and I turn around and walk into the exam room.

Or, at least I try.

I stumble into the exam room as I almost black out. I grab onto the curtains to keep myself from falling, and I almost rip the curtains off in the process. I barely catch myself from collapsing onto the floor by clenching my fists as hard as I possibly can. I stay keened with my eyes clenched shut and do all I can to forget about my body.

"Um... Doctor, are you okay?"

I look up. The patient is looking at me anxiously.

Quite the reversal of roles.

I force out a smile. "Yes. I'm so sorry. It's my thirty fifth hour of call."

The patient's eyes widen. "You got to sleep in between?"

I nod. "A couple hours."

"Doctor, you have to take care of yourself," says the patient, looking genuinely worried for me.

"It's a rite of passage," I explain. "It'll be over in a few hours, and I'll finally get to catch up on all this sleep I've missed."

The patient nods.

He watches me as I smooth down my scrubs and readjust the stethoscope around my neck.

He then opens his mouth carefully.

"Um... doctor, are you sure you can, you know... do your job?"

It only stings for a second.

"Absolutely," I say, probably a little bit too loudly. "Please don't worry. I'll take very good care of you."

The patient doesn't seem convinced.  
  
  
  
  
The call room always smells of freshly brewed coffee and microwaved pizza.

I have come to appreciate that smell, because it means rest, at least for a little while.

I stumble inside. My vision is going hazy because I am just so tired and weak. I was hoping to be able to lie down on the bed for a couple minutes, but the bed is already taken by someone else.

I barely even have the energy to groan my discontent. I collapse on the table instead, knocking down papers from the top of it, but I don't even care. I close my eyes.

"Dude, what the fuck!" yells the voice from the bed.

I open my eyes a slit and see that the figure on the bed had been Changmin. I moan in response, then close my eyes again.

When I don't humour him, he thankfully doesn't go on.

I open my eyes again to see Changmin's face only inches away. His bright brown eyes are staring into mine, and his soft, curly hair is falling into them. I can't help myself from thinking, even in this state, that he looks pretty damn good for having worked for thirty hours nonstop.

Unfortunately, Changmin doesn't think the same about me.

"Well, you look like shit," comments Changmin. "Go lie down on the bed."

I seriously consider refusing because I think I may be too tired to move, but then I decide to take him up on the offer and drag my unwilling body to the bed.

I look at the clock. So close.

"Coffee?" offers Changmin, walking to the coffee machine.

"Yes, please," I manage. Caffeine is all that is fueling every one of us residents at this point, and I so desperately need some strength.

Changmin lets me rest without talking as he makes the coffee, and I lie there, trying to rest my aching body and my overworked brain for a couple minutes.

I actually feel a little bit better by the time Changmin is finished making the coffee. I sit up to take the mug from his hands carefully, and Changmin sits down on the foot of the bed with his own.

"Thanks," I say. "I'm pretty sure I'm totally dependent on caffeine at this point."

I take a sip of the coffee. I don't really feel a difference with it anymore, to be honest. But I know that I would crash without it, so I let myself have as much coffee as I can. I can barely even hold the mug though, and I have to put it down on the floor beside the bed after the one sip.

Changmin frowns.

"Are you okay? You're sweating."

He extends a hand to feel my forehead. And when he does, he jumps.

"What the hell? You have a massive fever, and I don't need a thermometer to tell me that!"

I knock Changmin's hand away and wipe the sweat away from my forehead. "I think I must have caught something."

Changmin eyes me. "You really shouldn't be seeing patients like that. You could give that to someone, and that would not be pretty."

"I've been wearing surgical masks to see patients. And none of us should be seeing patients in the states we're in," I say. "We're all exhausted."

"None of the rest of us are collapsing though," says Changmin with raised eyebrows, taking a sip of his coffee. He takes another look at me, and then frowns. " _And_ you've lost a ton of weight."

"That's what not eating and sleeping will do to you," I say defensively.

"Yunho, I've _lived_ with you for ten years. We're legally considered common laws, have been for the last seven years. We _couples matched_ to residency. I've seen you through all of the shitty times of pre-med and med school, and you've never looked this bad."

"Gee, thanks," I mutter. I can feel myself blushing, but not because I'm embarrassed that I look bad. The first part of Changmin's little speech is the part that gets me. I still can't believe that we used that couples match service. That was the service that they had to keep married or serious couples together as they move on to the next step in their careers. Changmin and I weren't even dating at the time. We never did. We still aren't. But we used the service because we couldn't imagine not living with each other.

"I'm just worried about you," says Changmin.

"I'll be fine," I say like always.

I pick up the coffee and gulp it down as if it's water. Well, I suppose I drink more coffee than water nowadays.

I force myself back on my feet and stretch. "I should get going. I'm almost done."

"How much longer do you have?"

"Half an hour," I mutter. "Then I get the night off."

"Do you have early morning tomorrow?" Changmin asks.

"No, thank God, I don't start until nine," I say, shaking my head.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, am I the only one who's starting at six?" complains Changmin.

I chuckle tiredly. "I think I would rather die. When are you off?"

"Not for another three hours," grunts Changmin. He takes a swig of his coffee and puts it down on the table moodily.

"I'm sorry," I say genuinely.

Changmin just grumbles and lies back down on the bed.  
  
  
  
  
I cab back home from work because I don't think I can walk the ten minutes home without collapsing on the way there.

I never feel this weak or tired after a long shift, but this flu, or whatever it is, is really taking a toll on my body.

I barely make it to my bed before collapsing on it. I fall asleep within seconds.  
  
  
  
  
I wake up in the middle of the night, in pain and my shirt stuck to my body with all the sweat.

I let out a deep breath and rub my chest with a cringe.

_This is not normal_.

I sit there in the darkness, taking deep breath after deep breath.

I try to focus on anything else but the pain. I hear Changmin's snores from the room beside mine, and I try to focus on that.

The pain doesn't go away.

And that scares me.

That scares me because I immediately think of at least twenty things that could be wrong with me, without even trying.

And none of those are things that I want to have.

I debate for a bit internally whether I should go to the emergency room. But every emergency room physician knows me, and I don't want them to see me for something like this. Not when I don't know what it is.

I hesitantly pick up my phone with a shaking hand and let out a deep breath. I know I'm being annoying and I shouldn't be doing this, but I just have this gut feeling that I need to.

I dial.

The phone rings for a minute or so before it is picked up.

"Hello?" says a groggy voice.

I feel bad that I woke him up.

"I'm so sorry for waking you up, Doctor," I say apologetically. "This is Yunho. Jung Yunho."

There is a moment as he processes my words.

"Oh, yes, of course, Yunho! It's great to hear from you. How are you? How is residency?"

"It's rough, but I'm still enjoying it a lot."

At least it was half true.

"That's great. What's the matter?"

I bite my lip a little bit.

"I've been feeling kind of... off. I was wondering if you could take a look."

My family doctor goes silent for a couple seconds.

"Is it urgent? If it is, you can use the emergency room, I don't mind."

I hesitate. "No, I... I don't want my colleagues to see me."

He doesn't say anything for a second.

"Do you work tomorrow?"

"I start at nine in the morning," I say carefully. "I know you don't open until nine, but if you could somehow work me in -- "

"It's okay. Come in at seven and I'll see you."

"Are you sure?" I ask uncertainly.

"Yeah," he says. "If it were anyone else, I wouldn't be as concerned, but if you're concerned enough that you want to see me in the middle of the night... I'm concerned too."

"It might be nothing," I say quickly.

"We'll find out if it's nothing, and hopefully it is," he says.

"Hopefully," I agree. "Thank you so much for this. I'm so sorry for the trouble."

"It's no trouble," he says mildly. "I'll see you at seven at my clinic tomorrow. And if you feel any worse, get to the ER, okay?"

"Okay," I promise. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome, Yunho. Take care."  
  
  
  
  
When I wake up the next morning, Changmin is already up and dressed, and is eating breakfast at the kitchen table. I walk out, and his raises his eyebrows. "Why are you up already? I thought you weren't starting until nine," says Changmin, buttering his toast. He takes a big bite.

"I just have to run some errands before I go in," I say.

I feel bad about lying to him, but there's no sense in worrying him when this might turn out to be nothing.

He looks at me. "Can you pick up some orange juice and some eggs on the way then? We're out. If we don't do groceries today, we're going to be eating pizza for the rest of the week."

"I think I'll be going straight to work after my errands," I say. "I'll get some after work tonight though."

Changmin shrugs. "Suit yourself. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

At that point, neither of us realize that we still won't have eggs or orange juice after work that night.  
  
  
  
  
I thank my family doctor profusely at the clinic. He waves away the appreciation and gets me into the exam room.

I sit down on the chair and he sits by the desk.

He knows everything about me. He saw me grow up, and I've never had another doctor besides him. He was the one who had bought me my first stethoscope when I got into medical school. He's a mentor, a friend, and almost a second dad. He asks me about how I'm doing before diving in, asking me after my health.

"I think I'm having a bit of the medical students' syndrome," I preface with a nervous smile. "I'm almost certain it's nothing, but I've been feeling sort of off lately, so I thought I would get it checked out."

"Sure, Yunho," he says. "What are you worried about?"

"I don't know, but I'd just like to get a CBC at least."

"You're being a particularly unhelpful patient," he chides. "I'm not sure how much I can do with 'I feel off'."

I laugh. I've been on the prying end of an unhelpful patient way too many times not to respond to that. "I've got some chills. Fever."

"Night sweats?"

"Not sure if they're consistent," I say honestly. "Haven't been sleeping much in the last few months."

"Fair enough."

"I do have cold sweats though."

His brows furrow. "Any coughs? Diarrhea?"

I shake my head.

"Just, feeling... off," I say. "General malaise."

"Have you been losing weight at all?"

I know these slew of questions, and I'd asked them to myself. And I had justified them in my mind.

"Yeah. I haven't been eating well though, and working really hard."

"Any Nosebleeds?"

I know this question, too, and I know exactly what my doctor is thinking. A hematologic condition, something to do with my blood cell production.

"Yeah, I had a few nosebleeds over the last month, but like I said, I'm really tired, and pretty stressed out."

"Was there associated trauma?"

"No," I said. "Just spontaneous."

"Bruises?"

"Um... none that I noticed."

I quickly do a review of systems in my head to see if it hurts anywhere. I have a slight pain in my knee from that fall yesterday.

"I might have one, but only because I fell. Yesterday."

"Let me see it."

I roll up my pants. I hadn't paid attention to it in the shower today, so this would be my first time actually seeing the bruise. I know that something's wrong even before I finish rolling them up.

I curse under my breath. The bruise is much bigger than it should be. It's spanning the entirety of my knee and more, from the distal one third of my femur to the proximal one third of my tibia. _This isn't normal either._

And I know something's wrong with my platelets. I automatically come up with another twenty differential diagnoses for this in my head.

"Big fall?" he asks.

"Not this big," I breathe.

"Any pain?"

"At my knee? Not more than you'd expect."

"How about anywhere else?"

I hesitate. "Right here," I say, rubbing my chest. "It feels like something's pushing on it."

"You have chest pains?" he asks, seemingly in disbelief.

"I... yeah," I admit.

"Yunho," he scolds. "You know better than that. You don't wait hours to see a doctor if you have chest pains."

"I know. That's why I called you," I say defensively.

He sighs.

"It's still hurting now?"

I nod.

He frowns. "How long has the pain been there?"

"Just since last night. It woke me up, and that's why I called you."

"And the chills and fever," he says. "How about those?"

"Those have been there for a few weeks," I say.

The doctor looks much more concerned than I would like him to.

"Did you take vitals on yourself? Auscultation?"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I should have done all of that before I called you."

"No, I'm glad you didn't," he says. "You can be biased if you do it on yourself. Common caveat for healthcare providers, I'd say."

He then looks at me pointedly.

"But for something like chest pain, it would be okay if you took a quick listen on yourself to rule out something serious."

"It didn't even cross my mind," I admit.

He smiles.

"Okay, then. Let me do that and the vitals now."

And so I let him take my blood pressure, my temperature, heart rate, and resp rate. He makes sure that my O2 sats are okay. I have a fever, and my heart rate is a bit fast, but I'm not all that concerned because my blood pressure is perfect, if not a little bit low. There are a million and one reasons why I could have a fever and a fast heart rate, so I relax a little bit that I don't seem to having a myocardial infarction. My blood pressure would be way higher than this if I was having a heart attack.

He does a thorough auscultation after to listen for any abnormalities. He doesn't seem to find any.

He sighs. "Okay, Yunho. I'll write you a requisition for a blood test, so if you can go into the lab today before you go into work, I can get the results for you in a few hours."

I nodded. "Just... do you think you could you make it STAT?" I ask uncertainly.

"I was going to anyway," he says. "I don't know how the lab going to respond to that when it's not actually coming from the hospital, but we can give it a go. I'm also going to prescribe you an antibiotic. That way, if it is an infection, you don't have to come back," he sighs. "You really should have gone to the emergency room for this."

"It's not an emergency though," I say. "I've had the chills for days."

"If this is something other than a simple infection..."

"I'm sure it's nothing," I say.

"I hope so," he says.

I don't think either of us believe it.  
  
  
  
  
I get my blood drawn at a different wing of the hospital before I go into work.

I wonder if I should take the day off since I'm feeling so damn sick, but then I figure that if I were going to be sick, work was the safest place for that.

I don't want anyone to see the puncture mark on my arm from the blood test, so I decide to wear my white coat instead of wearing just the scrubs, which earns me a taunt or two from Changmin about how ridiculous I look.

As soon as I step into the ER, I'm being worked so hard again that I have no time to even take a drink, no less look up my blood test result. I'm curious and I'm concerned, but the volume today is as bad as any, and with another fellow resident out sick, it's so busy that I barely even remember how sick I feel.

It isn't a bit past two that I get a ten-minute break for a quick lunch. I wonder if the blood test results are out yet, and by virtue of being a doctor at this hospital, I get to access my own blood test results online. So after making sure that no one is looking over my shoulder, I look over my blood test results.

I scan the first few lines.

I seem to be a bit anemic, and I have low platelets. I have elevated white blood cells, so I'm probably fighting an infection of some kind. Maybe it really isn't a good idea to be working, I don't want to pass it on to the patients here.

I continue to look over the results.

Then I see a line that makes me do a double take.

My heart drops, and I feel all the blood drain out of my face.

_There are blasts in my peripheral blood._

I panic.

_No, there must have been a mistake, there's no way, no, no, no -_

At that exact moment, my phone rings, making me jump.

I reach for it with my shaking hand, and fumbling, I answer it.

I clear my throat.

"H - Hello?"

"I just got the blood test results, Yunho." It's my family doctor.

I've never heard him sound so concerned before.

And the worst part of it is that I already know why he's so concerned.

"Yunho, we're going to admit you to Samsung Hospital, okay? They already have all of your information. So make a quick trip home, grab everything you need, and you're headed for the Cancer Centre."


	2. Chapter 2

It comes as a shock. My face goes hot, and I don't hear anything anymore. I've frozen, and I can't feel anything. So for a few minutes, I just stand there blankly, not knowing what my next move should be.

I don't know if I'm supposed to break down crying while screaming about how unfair the world is, or if I'm supposed to go back to work like nothing happened.

I stand there, just processing what I was just told.

But then I calmly put down my phone and start to pack up my things to do as I'm told. Quickly go home to grab some of the things I need, then head to the Cancer Centre.

I'm surprising even myself with how calm and accepting I am.

Maybe it's because all the signs pointed to me having cancer, and I knew it subconsciously, even though I never admitted it to myself.

Or maybe it's because I'm surrounded by so many deaths every day that I have to come to terms with the fact that everyone, including me, will die at some point or another.  
  
  
  
  
I have leukemia.

The blasts are immature blood cells. Normally, they should never be in my peripheral blood. They should be in my bone marrow, and then when they fully mature, they should come out in my blood as mature blood cells. But the blasts are in my peripheral blood because my bone marrow is fucked up and is making way too many of these, uncontrollably.

I just hope I have a kind with good prognosis.

They don't know what kind of leukemia I have based on just that, but they admitted me to hospital because they know that no matter what kind I have, I'm going to need intense chemotherapy based on my symptoms.

I'm not too panicked, although maybe I should be. My chances have dying within the next month jumped from virtually zero to non-zero.

Cancer is not a death sentence. I know that. Leukemia isn't a death sentence. As a doctor, I know that.

So maybe that's why I'm not too panicked.

I've obviously seen a lot of cancer patients. I've done rotations in the oncology wards as a medical student and then again as a resident, and I've seen a lot of leukemia patients in that time, too. I've seen at least five adults and twenty children be cured of their leukemias in my short time in the oncology wards, and I've seen countless others go into complete remission.

But I've also seen people die from their cancer. In fact, my first patient death was at the Cancer Centre in this very hospital. I saw a 65-year-old man die of colon cancer in my third year of medical school.

I've seen many deaths after that. And really, sometimes, it's shit. It's just absolute shit. It's unfair, and it's just shit.

You see a young mother with three young children pass away from her breast cancer, and you see the husband of a newlywed couple die of his non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. You see young children who have never even gotten the chance to go to school die of neuroblastoma.

I guess, in comparison, I am not such a bad case. If I were the doctor treating my case, I probably wouldn't lose sleep over it.

I don't have a partner, or a family to leave behind. The only person I'm leaving behind would be my younger brother, who's all grown up now, and on the path of becoming a physician himself, so I would be leaving him in a good spot. I've lived a fulfilling life, and had the ability to pursue my dreams.

I guess, in the big scheme of things, it's not so bad.  
  
  
  
  
When I walk into the Cancer Centre, the receptionist greets me.

Thankfully, she doesn't know me. She says my doctor will introduce himself to me soon, then she tells me to go to the fifth floor.

The nurses take over once I get to the fifth floor. I think one of them does recognize me, but she doesn't say anything, probably because she's not sure. So I pretend I don't know her, either. She gives me a gown to change into after asking me if I'm okay.

Silly question. Patients will always tell you they're okay, even if they're not.

They may seek your help for their physical pains, but rarely will they confide in you for their emotional ones.

And like everyone else, I tell her I am.

But I actually do mean it.

I really do feel okay.

I take the gown from her and she shows me to my new room.

I actually quite like it. It's been built for long-term stay. I've treated patients here. And I know they'll take good care of me here.

I decide not to change into the gown until the doctor gets here. I also don't get on the bed, because I know I'll be spending most of my time there once the treatment starts. I don't want to lengthen the process, even if it's for a couple more minutes.

So I sit on the couch in my T-shirt and jeans, and look around the room. It's so white and clean that it makes me feel uncomfortable. At the same time, I guess having a clean room will be essential, since the chemo that's designed to nuke my cancer is also going to be nuking my immune cells, and I'll probably be infected all the time with something or another.

I don't think about the fact that my life is totally going to change. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm scared, or because I'm tired, or because I just don't care.

Or maybe, through this facade of acceptance, I'm still in denial.

I don't know.  
  
  
  
  
I jump as there is a knock on the door.

I rise to answer it, and Doctor Park is standing there with his sympathetic smile.

"Hi, Yunho."

He _definitely_ knows me.

He was my attending when I did the oncology elective a year or two ago. I was only with him for a couple of days, but he remembers me because we got along pretty well, and he tried to convince me to go into oncology.

No dice.

"Hi, Doctor," I say without looking in his eyes.

This feels strange.

Once, I was his colleague and his trainee, having intelligent discussions about how to manage other patients.

Now, I am his patient. I've moved down a step. But it feels like I've fallen down a deep pit. Our relationship, too, has completely changed because of this.

I feel more vulnerable than ever at the fact that he'll be seeing the sides of me that very few people have seen. And it won't be the strong, smart, perfect side of me. I'll be sick, weak, and submissive. And for that reason, I feel so humiliated.

I already feel as though he's judging me for falling sick when I'm a doctor, even though this cancer has nothing to do with my choices.

And for the first time since this morning when I was told I had cancer, I feel like I could start crying.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," he says gently. "I'm so sorry. This must be so hard."

I know that line. We're taught to say that line, and then a few more as the patient responds. And I don't feel like going through this superficial process right now.

"It's okay," I say quietly. "You can skip all the fluff."

"Yunho..." He sighs. "Doctors are human too. This can't be easy for you."

"It's not," I reply. "But nothing you say will make it better or worse. So let's just get the business done."

I realize a bit too late that I've snapped at him.

I never snap at anyone.

Not at patients, not at colleagues, and certainly not at superiors.

Doctor Park must be surprised, too, but he decides not to comment much more.

"Are you okay with me being your doctor throughout?" he asks. "It's okay if you want someone who doesn't know you."

"It's okay. I don't mind," I say with all the bravado in the world.

But inside, I'm feeling anything but brave.  
  
  
  
  
Doctor Park actually asks me to change into the gown so that he can do the bone marrow biopsy on me to find out what kind of leukemia it really is. I do as I'm asked, knowing that I'm not going to be able to go back into my regular clothes for a long time.

I've performed bone marrow biopsies before, and it is a procedure that I never liked doing. Although I see a lot of kicking and screaming at the ER and sometimes I have to make them scream even louder to reduce a dislocation, for instance, there's something innately strange about drilling into the hip bone of a person who looks and feels completely normal and hurting them so much that they scream.

And now on the receiving end, it's a bit scarier, and I feel infinitely more scared and vulnerable.

I'm lying fetal on the table with my underwear halfway down, not being able to see what anything the doctor is doing.

I startle as a cold, wet wipe moves over my backside to clean the area.

"Just relax," he says. "You okay?"

I'm not okay. I feel so out of control, and I can't stand it.

"I was hoping you'd put me to sleep for this," I say in an attempt to gain a bit more control.

"Well, you know how it is," says Doctor Park. "The risks of putting you to sleep far outweigh the benefits."

I feel a small prick on my back as he administers the lidocaine. I feel the area numbing almost instantaneously, but I know that the anesthetic will have almost no effect once the needle gets to the bone, and I'll feel the pain in its entirety.

"I can still put you to sleep if you really want me to, but a lot of patients go through this, Yunho."

"It's okay," I say. "Just... warn be before you go in, then again when you do the aspirate."

"All right," he says. "Here we go. Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I say. I tighten my grip on my knees.

I brace myself and clench my eyes shut.

I can't stop myself from whimpering in pain as the long, thick needle drills into my bone. And soon, without even being aware of it, I'm screaming.

And I know this is the start of a very, very long haul.  
  
  
  
  
I shift gingerly in the couch.

I wait for a long time in the radiology waiting room for someone to come out and see me about my PICC line. It would be a small tube inserted into a vein in the cusp of my elbow that travels all the way up my arm and basically into my heart that delivers my chemotherapy, so that I don't have to get a new needle every time. The bone marrow biopsy results aren't back yet, but they want to make sure we didn't waste any time tomorrow, when they expect I will be starting chemo, so they want the PICC line put in today.

Radiology is busy, as always. Not only are the MRI and CT machines running on full power throughout the night, so are the attendings and residents. I know one of the residents there; we were in the same medical school class, along with Changmin. But he doesn't seem to be on call today.

Or maybe he has cancer, too.

I chuckle a bit at my twisted sense of humour and then I let out a breath as I realize that I forgot to tell my attending that I was leaving my shift. I wince. I hope I don't get a concern of professionalism report filed against me. I hope that finding out that I have cancer is enough excuse to get off the hook.

Not doing anything makes me focus on how poorly I'm feeling. I'm really tired, and I'd really like to lie down on this couch and sleep, even through all this bone pain.

But I suppose that I'm glad I have the option for treatment as opposed to many others everywhere else in the world who don't have this option.

At around ten o'clock at night, the staff radiologist comes out and smies at me apologetically.

"Sorry, Yunho. We'll see you soon," he says.

I wave him away. "Take your time. I have all night. Literally."

"If you  want, you can go back to your room and we'll call you when we're ready for you."

I shake my head. "It's okay."

It isn't until two o'clock in the morning that the radiologist comes back for me to put in the PICC line.

But I don't really mind having waited to have a tube put inside me. I really, really don't mind having it in me for a few hours less.  
  
  
  
  
My arm is still numb by the time I get back into my hospital room with the semi-permanent tube hanging out of my arm. The nurses are fussing over me, because they have already heard that I was bleeding a bit when they put in the line. They talk about whether I need a platelet transfusion, and I shake my head. They managed to stop the bleeding soon enough.

It's been a really, really long day; so much had happened today that I still can't believe that it's been less than a day since I was diagnosed with cancer.

The environment isn't foreign, so I expect that I'll be able to sleep quite well.

I finally sit down on the bed. The sheets are so clean that they're stiff.

I fiddle with them for a little while, then I hear a quiet buzzing. It's my phone, which I wasn't allowed to carry into radiology.

It's stowed away so deep in my bag that I don't get to it in time to answer it. I frown a little. Who would be calling me at this time of night?

I pull it out and turn it on, and I do a double take. I see that I have twenty-three missed calls and five voicemails.

All of them are from Changmin.

I'm immediately afraid that something bad has happened, and I wasn't there to help him.

Shaken, I play the messages. The messages are pretty evenly spaced, about 3 hours apart from each other at first, then the last two are only an hour apart.  
  
  
  
  
 _"Hey, did you actually just leave work without telling anyone? Where did you go? Call me. We'll do it together next time."_

_"Hey, are you okay? Let me know where you are. Let's try to catch that hockey game on TV tonight."_

_"Um, Yunho, I'm just... really worried about you, so call me back, okay? Please."_

_"Yunho, where the fuck are you? Come home. At the very least, call me, for fuck's sake."_

_"Just so you know, I'm_ this _close to calling the police to file a missing person report, you fucktard. Call me."_  
  
  
  
  
I'm biting my lip as I listen. I didn't think Changmin would even notice, no less care this much.

I don't even know how I'm going to approach him. I wonder if he's so angry at me that he won't want to even speak to me.

I pick up the phone uncertainly. I don't know if I should call. I don't know if I want him to know. But my fingers are already dialing.

It takes Changmin half a ring to pick up.

" _Finally!_ Where the fuck are you? You just left work, do you know how angry the attending was? _And do you know how worried I was about you?_ "

"I... I'm sorry."

"Where are you?" he demands.  
  
I hesitate. I can feel Changmin becoming impatient on the other line, so I speak quietly and carefully.

"I... I found out I had cancer today, Changmin. I'm at the Cancer Centre."

Changmin is silent.

He's so silent for so long that I think the line went dead.

"Ch - Changmin?"

When he speaks next, his voice is shaking. I'm not sure if it's with anger or with something else.

"You'd better not be fucking with me, Jung Yunho. Because this isn't funny."

"I'm really sorry, Changmin, I... I should have let you know earlier."

Another pause.

"What kind?" he asks.

I let out a breath, because I feel like I'm going to start crying. Then I compose myself and tell him. "Leukemia."

Changmin is silent again. So I speak instead.

"They don't know what kind of leukemia it is yet," I say. "I just got a bone marrow biopsy done to find out."

"Fuck..." breathes Changmin. His voice cracks. "Fuck, Yunho."

"I know..." I say through clenched teeth. "I know. It's killing me, too, Changmin."

He's silent.

"Changmin?"

I hear a click.

The line goes dead.  
  
  
  
  
I'm lying in my bed, in my darkened room.

I'm alone.

I don't have any machines hooked up to me yet, so nothing distracts me from sleeping... except my thoughts.

It really is scary how your mind wanders if left alone.

The places it will go if you don't have something distracting you... especially when you give it a topic like _cancer_ , or _death_ , or _suffering_.

"I have cancer," I whisper to myself. "I might die."

Tears finally well up in my eyes.

I wish Changmin would come, because I'm scared to death right now, and I want him to be here so that I can tell someone just how fucking scared I am.

And I'm sure he'll come. He would never hear that I'm in trouble and then not come to see me.

But then an hour passes, then two, then three.

The entire night goes by, and I'm just lying on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He doesn't come by.

He doesn't even call back, not even when the birds start chirping and the sky slowly turns from black to blue.

Maybe I misjudged Changmin.

I guess I'm okay with that. As long as Changmin is happy. I don't think there's anything much I want in the world, except for the people I love to be happy.

So I'm alone.

And in this moment, I would be quite okay with dying.

Because I'm not sure how much there is to live for.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm shaking the next morning when Doctor Park and a resident comes in for the rounds.

I'm not crying. I'm not sad, or angry.

I'm scared.

I'm scared of what's to come. I'm scared of this cancer, of the chemo, and… as much as I don't want to admit it, of death.

It scares me because until now, I had the option of avoiding the things that scared me. If I was afraid of the monster in the closet, I could keep the closet door locked. If I was afraid of getting in a car crash on an icy winter morning, I could walk. I was afraid of failure, I could stop trying.

But I have no way of running away from this cancer. It's part of me.

I'm scared of going through this alone. I'm scared of ending this alone. I'm scared that there won't be anyone at my bedside as I die.

"Yunho?" says Doctor Park.

I'm shaking violently as he gets the lights on. My teeth are chattering, and I can't even sit up for him because I'm shaking so hard.

"Yunho," Doctor Park says more urgently. He rushes to my bed. And even though he's little more than a stranger, I can feel myself stabilizing a little bit when he squeezes my wrists. His resident begins with the vitals, and I finally start crying, for the first time since I was told I had cancer.

I whimper out a string of words that I can't even decipher when he lets go.

"I know, I know," he reassures me, squeezing my wrist again. He wipes the tears from my eyes with his latex-gloved hand, and he looks at the resident. "Lorazepam. Two milligrams."

The resident is quick about it, but I still don't calm down for a little while.

"P-Please d-don't let g – "

"I won't, Yunho," promises Doctor Park. "Just relax."

And he doesn't let go, at least until the anti-anxiety drug is fully in my system and I stop shaking. He waits until I'm taking deep breaths again, and then he sits me up.

He lets me sit in silence for a while with my head down, my gaze fixed on the threads making up the white sheets over my legs.

I regain enough of my senses to realize that my gown is falling down from one of my shoulders, and for me to feel ashamed.

I fix the gown silently, but I don't raise my head. I don't know how much more of my dignity can be taken away from me.

"Yunho."

I don't look up, but he stays silent, making it clear that if I keep my head down, he's not going to speak. So I look up, reluctantly and hardly meeting his eyes.

"Do you need to see a psychiatrist?"

I shake my head and look into my lap again. "I'm – I'm sorry, Doctor," I whisper.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Yunho," he says. "You would never expect an apology from a patient you treat, so don't hold yourself to a higher standard."

I drop my head a bit more. _But I'm not just a patient. I know better. I'm a doctor._

"Doctors are human too, Yunho," reminds Doctor Park softly as if he read my mind. "Every doctor falls ill, at least once."

When I don't respond, he begins to check over the PICC line for any signs of infection, and checks my vitals once more. When he finishes, he regards me again.

"Let me know if you change your mind about the psychiatrist. And let me know if you need anything else."

I nod passively.

Then I lie back down and stare at the ceiling again.

As the doctor and the resident leave the room, a tear rolls down my face.  
  
  
  
  
I'm being very selfish. I know I'm being very selfish.

I know my suffering here won't change, whether or not there's someone here with me. But I still want him to be here with me. I want him here just because I want him to be. I'm completely ignoring the fact that he has his own life to tend to. I know better than anyone that he has a stressful job, bills to pay, and parents who rely on him for financial and emotional support. And just because I have cancer, I'm expecting him to drop everything and run to my bedside.

I'm not just being selfish, I'm being downright ridiculous.

I sigh and roll over.

I haven't had so much time to do nothing for a very long time. I haven't had much time to just lie in a bed and think.

I don't really want to think, but I don't feel like doing anything else.

I know I'm being stupid and pathetic, and that I'm wallowing in self-pity. I could go out and get some errands run, go grocery shopping like I promised Changmin yesterday, or I could even go back to work. I could just sleep, or I could be a bit more active in my disease and actually try to make things better.

But I don't feel like doing any of that.

I don't feel like doing anything.

I wonder why I'm so afraid of death when I'm actually okay with dying. I don't know what aspect of it scares me. The dying, or the loneliness.

I sigh and look back at the ceiling.

I hate where my mind goes when it's too quiet.  
  
  
  
  
Doctor Park returns just after lunchtime, a bag of IV fluids in his hand. It's clear, but I know exactly what it is. And I grit my teeth at the sight.

"Have you eaten today?" he asks.

I shake my head. I had rejected the breakfast tray this morning. I had let the lunch tray on the bedside table, but I haven't touched any of the food.

"You might want to consider it."

I look up at him. I know why. It's because when I start the chemo, who knows when I'll be able to eat without being in pain again.

I look at the lunch of a sandwich, a few pieces of fruit and a small carton of milk to see if my appetite will come back. I still don't want to eat it, but I don't want to seem like a petulant child refusing food. So I reach for it and force a bite into my mouth.

I chew slowly. I don't even register what it tastes like. I just chew, and force it down my throat. When I'm halfway through the sandwich, Doctor Park speaks quietly.

"I got the bone marrow biopsy results back."

His face is grim. I put the sandwich down.

I can guess the diagnosis before he says it just by his face.

"It's ALL."

Acute lymphocytic leukemia. Children between the ages of three and ten do very well with this leukemia. Cure rate of almost 90 percent.

It's too bad I'm not ten anymore.

Prognosis is much more dismal for adults. Overall survival rate is maybe twenty or thirty percent. It's not zero. I guess I can be thankful about that. But with your life on the line, twenty or thirty isn't high, either. The twenty or thirty percent cure rate comes from bone marrow transplant recipients. I don't think I'm going to have that.

I smile tiredly. "Seem like this cancer is out to make things impossible, doesn't it?"

Doctor Park looks troubled. "Do you have any siblings?"

I nod. "I have a little brother who I love to death," I say. "But we're not biologically related."

"Do you have any biological siblings, Yunho?"

I shake my head and force out a smile. "I don't know. No one knows."

He sighs.

"You never know what we might find in the donor bank, Yunho. Don't give up hope so easily."

"The match probability of one in a million doesn't give me much hope," I say. "But I'm ready for the chemo."

The doctor nods and hooks the bag that he was holding on the IV pole next to the bed.

He puts the blood pressure cuff around my arm and the oxygen saturation clip on my finger.

"I know you already know everything about this," he says quietly. "I know you know the side effects… the risks of infection… And we'll have to do a few chemo injections into your spinal canal as prophylaxis."

I nod and I grip the side of the bed rails.

"…But if you have any questions, let me know."

I shake my head. "I'll be fine," I whisper.

"So we're hitting it really hard at the beginning so that we can get as much of it as possible, and hopefully the cancer won't metastasize," he says. "So it might be difficult to tolerate."

I know this.

"Do you have any concerns before we start?"

It's so strange. It's so strange that I was at work yesterday, and today, I'm starting chemo along with a cocktail of drugs to help me tolerate it. I thought I had the flu yesterday. Today, I know I have cancer. And my life has been turned upside down, quite literally, from treating patients to being a patient being treated.

So, do I have any concerns?

"No," I say quietly. I push the lunch tray away. "No concerns."  
  
  
  
  
I'm alone in the room now, the chemotherapy pumping steadily into my veins.

I've already taken the four anti-nauseant pills and he gave me an anti-anxiety pill. I don't know if it's standard, or if he gave it to me because of that humiliating panic attack I had this morning.

I grit my teeth. I've already been labelled the weak one who can't handle my situation, and I've been trying so hard to be accepting, and to be the strong, perfect patient who needs less than the standard care.

I've already failed.

I take a deep breath. My gaze wanders aimlessly around the white room until it falls on the bedside table, and my phone lying abandoned on it.

There are people who I _need_ to call about this. My little brother, first and foremost, but I'm the only family he's relying on at this point, and he's in the middle of some of the most important times in his life. He's gotten seven interviews to medical schools. I'm sure he'll get in, but he doesn't need me to distract him with this. Then I should probably phone my attending, who probably has no idea where I am, unless Changmin told him. But I don't want to call him. I don't need to hear someone yelling at me about how irresponsible I am right now. I really, really don't.

And then there are people who I _want_ to call about this. But I shouldn't. He's made himself clear about where he's going to be throughout all of this, and I'm not going to force him to do what I want him to.

But I find myself reaching for my phone. I turn it on, then scroll through the contacts until I find the familiar name. The name that makes me feel relaxed even as I see it. And I type in a message.  
  
  
 _I just started chemo. Will you come and help me get through it?_  
  
  
I keep it on my phone screen.

I don't have the courage to send it.

So I don't.

I delete what I've written, and put the phone on the bedside table.

I lie down.

And I watch the IV drip.

I watch the IV drip, waiting for it to finish.

I don't feel like doing anything else.

I would be quite okay with dying.  
  
  
  
  
I am tired after the chemotherapy finishes. My body is exhausted to the point of nausea.

But I can't sleep.

Doctor Park comes in when it's done and asks me if I need anything. I want to tell him no, but I want to sleep. So I tell him.

He asks me again if I want to see a psychiatrist. When I refuse once again, he gives me a sleeping pill instead. As I take it with a glass of water, I wonder if I will ever be able to function without the plethora of drugs in my system again. I'm guessing not.

I lie down and close my eyes.

And finally, after much tossing and turning, I fall asleep.  
  
  
  
  
I open my eyes.

I'm still a bit tired. It takes me a little while to orient myself to where I am, and why I'm here. I remember everything, barely though.

I look outside. It's almost dark. I must have slept for a long time. I wonder how I'm going to sleep tonight.

I might need another sleeping pill.

I look around the room again. It's just as I left it before I fell asleep.

I sit up slowly and let out a breath.

I feel slightly nauseous, but I know can force it down. I swallow over and over again. It doesn't really help.

The deep breaths do, though. So I sit there, doing nothing but taking deep breaths. Soon, I lose track of how many breaths I've taken. I lose track of time. I feel like I almost lose track of my being.

I just sit in the darkness of the room that never got brightened, as if I'm waiting for something. Waiting to get better, or waiting to die.

I'm looking blankly at the wall in front of me when the door slides opens with a bang, without so much as a knock. I jump as I look at the door wide-eyed. And when the lights come on, I'm even more shocked.

Changmin, with his messy brown hair and all, is striding in. He's wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and he's carrying a large backpack and a suitcase.

"Hey," he says as if he had just come back from work and I had been sitting at the dinner table.

He's moving busily around the room, putting his backpack down on the couch and rearranging the furniture around the room to his liking. He moves the bedside table away, and pulls the couch in so that it's right beside the bed. I wonder if I'm dreaming, or hallucinating.

I hope I'm not. I hope he's really come to visit me to just talk for a little while.

He looks real. I hope he's real.

"H – Hey," I reply much too late, dazed.

Changmin sits himself down on the couch after having finished rearranged the furniture. He then starts digging through his bag.

He pulls a few things out of the backpack and places them on my lap. "I brought you some of your stuff."

It's the little things I'd forgotten in my rush of getting here.

My stuffed teddy bear that Changmin makes fun of every time he sees, the stethoscope I used in med school, my glasses that I rarely use, and a particularly good picture of me and Changmin in Italy with our arms around each other's shoulders, laughing so carelessly.

I look at the last item for a long time before finally speaking.

"That was a fun trip."

"No, it wasn't. You drove me crazy," says Changmin, rolling his eyes. "You came with absolutely nothing planned, and I had to stay up every night planning travel routes while you slept obliviously every night."

I smile involuntarily. I don't really feel bad about that. I still don't think we needed to know which bus routes we would take at what time to what restaurant to eat which dish like the way Changmin wanted.

"That was the summer after we got into med school," I muse.

"Yeah. And we didn't realize that we'd be broke for the next five years, so we thought we had the money to spare."

I chuckle. "But it was still a fun trip."

"Maybe for you," Changmin mutters.

He then takes me by my hands. I flinch a bit at the unexpected touch. I hope the flinch didn't give Changmin the wrong message. I was just surprised. I don't mind the touch at all.

"Don't worry. I Purelled the crap out of my hands before I came," he says.

A smile fills my face. He knows me enough to know that I would never refuse his touch like that. I'm so thankful.

I turn my head finally to meet his eyes. And I finally get a good look at his face, and he gets a good look at mine.

His face looks a lot more disheveled than I'd ever seen it. His eyes are red and swollen, and there are bags under his eyes. He must be tired, and I'm thankful that he came to visit me even though he's so tired.

I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I see his face harden a bit as he looks at me. The look only remains on his face only until he looks away and takes a deep breath, looking at the spot on the wall that I'd been staring at all day. He then lets go of my hands. I feel the warmth that his hands leave for a little while longer.

I awkwardly look away from Changmin, and my eyes catch something that my mind hasn't addressed until now.

"What's all that?" I ask, pointing at the suitcase.

Changmin looks over at what I'm pointing to, then answers like I am the densest person not to be able to tell what it is.

"My stuff."

I frown. "Why did you bring your stuff?"

"Because I'm going to live here for as long as you're here," he declares.

I raise my eyebrows.

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not."

"You're not the one with cancer."

"And I didn't use the couples matching service to live alone."

"Stop bringing that up," I moan, covering my ears.

"Why? Be proud of your choices," taunts Changmin with a small laugh. He then reaches for the suitcase.

He unzips it open, revealing the messy, crumpled contents.

"It took me forever to pack for you because your room was so freaking messy."

"You... You have work."

"I took a leave. That took forever, too, because they didn't want both of us on leave at the same time." He digs through the suitcase and finds something. "Oh – yeah. I forgot to give you this."

He pulls out a book and throws it into my lap. I look at the cover and I start laughing, and Changmin cracks a smile, too.

"You were complaining that they don't give us enough time off to study for the next step of the licencing exams," explains Changmin. "Now's your chance, sitting on your butt all day in bed."

"Changmin, I have ALL," I say, forcing down the lump that comes to my throat as Changmin's face freezes. "I don't think I'm going to need to study for this. I probably won't survive long enough to take them."

Changmin doesn't talk for a little bit, and I know he's struggling. But then he's back.

"If you do survive this, though, you're going to regret not studying," he says. He then goes back to attempting to organize his things inside the suitcase. I watch him, thumbing mindlessly through the pages.

Changmin acts as though nothing is different as he gives up on organizing his things. He then notices the remote control on the couch, and then looks up at the TV in the room.

"You have a TV in here?"

I nod.

"Can we watch some?"

"Sure."

"Sweet," mutters Changmin. He gets up to dim the lights again, then lies down across the couch. And he begins to flick through the channels until he gets to the hockey game.

I watch the game for a few minutes, but then I turn my head and watch Changmin instead. His eyes are fixed on the screen. I don't know if he's paying attention or not, but I feel a massive sense of comfort.

I'm back at our house, in the living room with Changmin, and we're watching TV together. And maybe we will fall asleep on the couch, and then scramble to get to work on time the next morning because we'd forgotten to set the alarm.

I have some normalcy again.

And I am so grateful. And as I close my eyes, my eyes fixed on Changmin until the very last moment, I hope this isn't all a dream.  
  
  
  
  
"Morning," whispers a voice into my ear.

I open my eyes. I'm in the hospital room. I'm getting used to it now. I'm not surprised to be here. I am surprised that last night wasn't a dream, though, and that I'm staring into Changmin's mischievous face.

"How do you feel?"

"Are you the one that's doing the rounds?" I say hoarsely.

"No, dumbass. I'm waking you up before they get here so you actually have time to decide whether you're feeling poorly and tell them if you are."

"Don't be mean," I whine, covering my eyes.

"I wasn't being mean!" defends Changmin.

"You called me a dumbass."

"I call everyone a dumbass," retorts Changmin. "When am I ever mean to you?"

"When are you not?"

I sit up and take a deep breath. I feel okay.

I look at Changmin. He's pouting.

"I wasn't being mean," he declares.

I chuckle. "I know," I say.

I hold out my hand for him to take. He takes it. And I smile.  
  
  
  
  
I'm not so lucky on the second day. I fall asleep after my chemo again – without the need for a sleeping pill this time – but I wake up within a couple hours because I just _have to go to the bathroom_.

"Yunho?" says Changmin with a frown as I rip the sheets away from myself and rush to the bathroom. I pull open the door as quickly as possible, lower my head over the toilet bowl, and retch.

I empty my stomach of all of its contents from lunch, but I still can't stop retching. I throw up until all that comes out is a clear liquid. My mouth is sour with acid, and my chest burns.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The taste of vomit is still too fresh in my mouth, and I'm more exhausted.

I lose strength in my legs and lower myself down on my knees in front of the toilet bowl.

As I stay sitting on the bathroom floor, gripping the sides of the toilet bowl, the toilet flushes and I feel a comforting hand on my back, rubbing soft circles over it.

"Can you stand?" asks Changmin.

I groan a bit before nodding. With Changmin's hand as support, I'm able to get back on my feet. He leads me to the sink, and hands me a glass of water.

"Rinse."

My hand is shaky as I bring the cup to my lips and attempt to rinse out my mouth. And before I can get anything in my mouth, I retch again.

Changmin encourages me through the fit, patting my back and holding me up. Then he holds the glass to my lips himself. I try to take it from him.

"I can do it m – "

"Shut up and just rinse your mouth."

I do, with Changmin's help.

It's strange. I should be embarrassed to show this ugly side of me to someone I like. But I'm not. I'm not sure why, but it must be because Changmin is acting so naturally. He's not treating me like a sick cancer patient who needs sympathy. He's treating me exactly the same way he has for the last decade.

He leads me back to the bed. He sits down after he puts me down on the bed.

"Just so you know, there are puke basins on the bedside table," says Changmin. He stretches out on the couch again. I look over to see that he is right.

"There weren't before I fell asleep," I mutter.

"I put them there after you fell asleep, dumbass."

"You called me dumbass again."

"I'll stop calling you a dumbass when you stop being one."

"How was I supposed to know what you did when I was sleeping?" I complain.

Changmin shrugs. "That's not my problem. Anyway, I'm going to go and tell Doctor Park you threw up. Maybe you could try to go back to sleep."  
  
  
  
"Changmin," I call softly.

It's been a week of Changmin taking care of my cancer-ridden body and mind. He's done everything from taking me out for walks and emptying the basins, to reporting how much acid I've thrown up, to screaming at the staff for not checking up on me often enough.

Tonight isn't bad. I've stopped throwing up, and I'm lying on the bed in the dark, and Changmin is lying on the couch. And I have decided that no matter how normal he acts, things are not normal. And that we need a talk.

Changmin hesitates. He must know already what I want. Then, with a look as if he's decided something very difficult, he looks at me.

"Yeah."

His brown eyes are illuminated by the lights that are still on outside the room, in the hallway. They look tired, and why wouldn't he be? He's working to take care of me 24 hours a day.

"Did you come here to take care of me?"

Changmin is silent for a little while. He's deep in thought. He's not looking at me. He's looking off into the distance.

"Yeah."

"You really don't have to – "

"You didn't have to take care of my drunken ass in undergrad or in med school, either, but you did," says Changmin.

"I know, but this is different, Changmin. I never missed work or school to take care of you, and – "

"I'm not doing this to repay you," he says. "I'm doing this because I want to. I want to spend time with you."

I don't know how to reply.

"You really don't have to."

"You said that already. I know."

I look at him worriedly, but he seems so at peace with his decision.

Then I decide to ask him another question, one that's been burning on my mind.

"You know that night I told you I had cancer?"

Changmin is silent for a moment, then he nods slowly. "Yeah."

"Why did you hang up on me?"

Changmin doesn't say anything.

"Changmin..." I urge.

Changmin isn't looking at me. He's looking at the floor.

"I know I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm not looking for an apology," I say. "I was just... curious."

Changmin looks thoughtful, and he chews on his lip for a long time. I give him the time and space, until he finally speaks.

"I… I just… didn't know what I was supposed to say."

I look at him. "The mighty Doctor Shim Changmin was lost for words?" I chuckle.

"It's a rare occurrence, but it does happen," says Changmin, also grinning a bit. "Maybe you'll forgive me in time."

I shake my head so hard that my thinning hair slides back and forth over my head. "I already have."

Changmin chortles and pats the top of my head. "Now sleep."

"You're always telling me to – "

"No more arguing. Sleep."

I pout, but I close my eyes.

I think I'll have a good night's sleep.  
  
  
  
There are good days, and there are bad days.

There are days that I feel well enough to even go on walks out in the terrace of the hospital, and there are days when I stay up all night, unable to sleep because I'm throwing up all night.

One thing that is constant, though, is the hair loss.

I'm afraid to take showers every day because I lose many fistfuls of hair every day, and I hate looking at my bed because it looks like someone took a haircut over it. I hate looking in the mirror, because I can see my hair thinning visibly.

So for days before and after I've lost all of my hair, I refuse to look in the mirror until one day, Changmin marches into my hospital room with a hand-held mirror.

"Jung Yunho. You're going to look in this mirror," he orders.

"No," I say, closing my eyes and turning my head away.

"You're going to do it. Now."

He seems rather stern. I look at him pleadingly, and he holds the mirror out, upside down so that it doesn't yet show my reflection.

"Changmin…"

"Now."

I sigh, and hesitantly, take the mirror from him. But I still don't look into it.

I take a deep breath, and with my eyes closed shut, flip the mirror over so that when I open my eyes, I would be able to see my reflection.

"Come on," he encourages.

I open my eyes.

As soon as I see my reflection, I want to close my eyes again. I look so different without my hair, so unlike what I know of myself. I look like someone I don't know. I chew on my lips, for a while. I don't know why Changmin wanted me to see myself. I hate that Changmin has to see me so ugly like this, but I'm glad Changmin has never told me that I was ugly for this.

I sigh and give him back the mirror.

"At least I still have some of my eyebrows," I comment.

Changmin laughs.

"When I was studying about cancer and chemo, I used to think hair loss wasn't a significant side effect, because it really has no impact on your health," I say. "But it kind of sucks. I look like Voldemort."

Changmin rolls his eyes. "Did you ever think any chemo patient who's lost their hair looked like Voldemort?"

I shoot him a look. "No."

"So I'm pretty sure you don't look like Voldemort to anyone else, either. Get it out of your head."

I sigh. "I'd get it out of my head if my hair wasn't out of my head."

"For God's sake, Yunho," says Changmin, frustrated. "Get over it."

I raise my eyebrows – or what's left of them.

"Did you actually just tell me to get over cancer?"

"No, I just told you to get over your pathetic self," says Changmin firmly. "You're being ridiculous."

I cross my arms. "You can't say that to me, I have cancer!"

"Try that line on someone who cares," shoots Changmin. "You look just beautiful the way you are. Absolutely beautiful."

I think I'm blushing.


	4. Chapter 4

I get two weeks to recuperate before I start my third and final round of chemo. I was hoping that I would be in remission by now, but the bone marrow biopsy from three days ago showed that the cancer is _still_ there. Doctor Park recommends one more round of chemo. If the cancer is still there after that, we're going to have to re-evaluate.

Meaning, he thinks I should probably give up.

I really hope I don't have to give up.

I spend a lot of time just sitting there, reflecting.

I haven't cried yet since I got my cancer diagnosis, and I'm still not crying, no matter what types of thoughts go through my head. I'm almost proud of myself for that.

Changmin notices too, but he's not proud. He seems more concerned.

And so as I lie in bed with Changmin lying in the couch next to me in silence and peace the day before I'm supposed to start my third round of chemo, Changmin reaches for my hand. I'm surprised, but I let his hand grasp mine, and I grip my hand around his, too.

We stay like that for a long time, just in the silence.

"It's okay, you know?" says Changmin.

I look at him.

"It's okay to be sad and angry."

I smile. "There's nothing to be sad or angry about."

"Except that you have to go through this when you're so young. When you've done nothing but live a good life. And sacrificed yourself for people around you."

I don't speak for a while. Then I finally open my lips. "There have been people who have sacrificed themselves for me, too." I look at Changmin. He's one of them, but I'm too shy to point that out. So I just… continue with my train of thought. "Everyone's going to die eventually. There's still nothing to be sad or angry about."

Changmin doesn't look happy.

Maybe that wasn't what he wanted to hear. Maybe he wanted me to break down and cry to him.

But I don't want to. I don't want to burden the people I love.

Compared to everything else I've gone through in life, death is easy. Death may even be easier than being sick.  
  
  
  
  
The two weeks' break is kind of a time for me to reflect. I know now that there's a very high possibility of me dying in the near future, so I spend some of my time thinking about what I'm going to be leaving behind and how I want to be remembered. I think about what I've accomplished in my life, and what I can be proud of myself for accomplishing.

At first, I am proud of myself. I went to med school, I graduated, and I became a doctor. I saved lives, and I worked so hard to get myself there, so I'm proud of myself. And I remember that I basically raised my little brother since he was thirteen, and although I know I wasn't perfect, I know I did a halfway decent job and that our parents would be proud of us both, with the kid going to medical school now too.

But the more I think, the more I realize. I've wanted to be a doctor pretty much my whole life because the idea that I would be saving lives, and I would be making a positive difference in someone's life had made such a huge impact to me. There had been people in my life who had saved mine, both in medical and non-medical contexts, and I wanted to do the same for someone else.

But somewhere along the way, as time went on and life unfolded itself, my idealistic romances about medicine began to fade, and it had become something out of reach that I just… _wanted_. It became something that wasn't about other people; it was about _me_. It was me and my desire to just have something good happen in my life, to know that there will be an income, and to know that I would finally be able to pay off all this debt without working three shitty jobs at a time.

Nothing changed when I went into medical school. After the initial ecstasy of actually getting in, the reality kicked in. It was about trying to pay my way through medical school now, and try to put Hojoon through university now, too. It was about trying to find someone that would loan me enough money to get by, and for me to just get through all the schooling until I could finally make enough money to start paying off my debt.

The ideals dissolved to the point that I never even remembered them through all of my years in training. It was never about making a difference in someone else's life after I began studying medicine. It was always about trying to get _myself_ to a better place. It was about the diagnosis, the treatment, and all of that was work and a job that would pay me enough money to be comfortable, not about making a difference. In fact, when patients would trust me enough to tell me things about their life, I found it annoying, a nuisance, and a waste of my time. How could I make a difference in a patient's life when I don't know their life at all? I couldn't. But I didn't care. I was barely able to support myself. I never had the strength or time to support anyone else.

I think that's part of the subconscious reason why I chose emergency medicine. I've shut everything emotional out of my job, and it was just purely that – a job. I didn't want a long-term relationship with patients. I wanted to do my job on them, then never see them again enough to see whether I've made a difference. It didn't matter to me whether or not I made a difference. I just wanted see patients, get them out of the hospital as soon as I could, and expect never to see that patient again.

But as I lie on what is probably my deathbed, I'm finding out that it does matter. And I begin to wonder whether I've touched anyone's life at all – whether anyone's life would be different had I not been there. I'm pretty sure the answer is no.

It's a horrible sinking feeling, realizing that you've worked so hard all your life and still didn't end up accomplishing anything you wanted to – realizing you've worked so hard that you've lost the big picture on life.

And even the relationships. I like to think that at the very least, I've done a good job on my baby brother. But then I realize that even though I've raised him, we're not really that close. I basically never saw him because I was always working, out the door before he was up and back home only after he was in bed.

Hojoon cooked for himself, he took care of the house, picked up jobs at a younger age than I did, and he made enough to pay for groceries and the day-to-day bills. And realizing that he actually really raised himself and all I've done is give him a place to sleep, I hate myself even more. Even now, we're not as close as I would like us to be. He calls me once every couple weeks to say hi, and we see each other maybe three or four times a year since he went away for university. I love my brother, and I would give my life for him… but in the end, I've done nothing for him and we still don't even really have a relationship.

I let those thoughts eat away at me for days. I don't say what I'm thinking to Changmin, but Changmin notices that I'm troubled. He checks up on me, asking me if I'm okay. I don't really know what Changmin is thinking, but he gives me space. He doesn't pry; he lets me have my silence and lets me think.

When I go an entire two days without saying anything, Changmin finally breaks the silence. He holds my hand in his, and he plays with it, stroking it, patting it, squeezing it… then he finally turns to look at me.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Life," I reply simply. "And my brother."

He looks at me. Changmin's face changes into something more serious. The three of us had lived in the same house for many years. When our parents died, Changmin had let little Hojoon move into our apartment, and Changmin had always been so understanding. I think Changmin probably helped Hojoon even more than I did. They're actually probably closer to each other than I am to Hojoon.

He watches me for a moment, then speaks.

"You have to tell Hojoon," says Changmin. "You have to tell him. It's already way too late."

I look away from him, and he looks away from me, too. I am almost sure that he'll drop the topic, but then an hour or two later, he speaks again.

"...When are you going to tell your brother?" asks Changmin. He's calm.

"I... I don't know."

"It's not going to get any easier, you know. And… and you need to give him time to deal with all of this. It's only fair to him."

I stay silent.

"Do you want me to tell him for you?"

"No. he'll never forgive me if I don't tell him myself."

"So do it. Before I do it."

"He's in the middle of med school interviews," I argue. "He doesn't need me to distract him."

Changmin shrugs. "Maybe it'll give him a good sob story to talk about during an interview, you know?"

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm not sure that he needs more sob stories than he already has."

"Not that, um, yeah. Um, never mind," says Changmin hastily. "I just think that he would want to know that his brother has cancer."

I sigh.

"He'll find out," I say. "Just... later."

Changmin looks at me. "When's his last interview?"

"April. April second."

Changmin gawks at me.

"Yunho. That's another two months from now."

"I… I know," I say, looking away.

"Are you planning on dying without him knowing?"

I grimace a little. It's a bit unnerving to know that Changmin's expecting me to die. Maybe there is no hope after all.

"No," I insist. "I want him at my deathbed. There are only two people that I really, really want at my deathbed and he's one of them."

"He's only going to be there if he knows, Yunho," says Changmin with a look. "And who's the other person you want there?"

I look at him.

I'm kind of surprised that he doesn't already know.

"You, Changmin."

I realize a bit too late that I probably made that sound like the most obvious thing in the world, and that probably scared Changmin a little bit. So when Changmin doesn't say anything, I take a step back.

"But only if you want to be there too," I reassure him. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do."

Changmin lets out a small chuckle, then he meets my bewildered eyes and squeezes my hand tighter.

"I'd be honoured to be there," he reassures me.

I can't help but smile.  
  
  
  
  
The next surprise comes when my third round of chemo has begun.

I'm even more exhausted now, throwing up a lot more and in a lot more pain. There is no patch in my mouth that isn't a sore. I have had a sore throat for days because of how compromised my immune system is because of the chemo, and I can barely keep my eyes open.

And it also means that all the side effects are back, full-force, stronger than ever, only two days into my treatment. And it means Changmin is having a harder time than ever, trying to take care of me and my burdensome body.

I groan and put my head down.

I am puking my guts out.

I have never thrown up this much in my life.

I'm throwing up even though I have nothing in my stomach to throw up, and the acid burns my entire insides and mouth as it comes up. It hurts.

"M – Make it stop," I plead, even though I know that Changmin can't help.

"I'll ask for more antiemetics," says Changmin sympathetically, rubbing circles on my back.

In that time, I retch again and throw up a mouthful of acid into the basin that Changmin's holding up for me.

Doctor Park comes in eventually, and he sees me throwing up. He gives another push of IV antiemetics and an encouraging word or two, but he can't fix this either.

That part isn't the surprise. I knew what would be happening to me going into this round of chemo, and I'd mentally prepared myself for it – even though once you're actually there, the pain and suffering is all the same. There's nothing you can do to be ready for chemo.

It's another two whole weeks of the same thing over and over, me throwing up with barely enough strength to do it, hoping that this is the last. Then another bone marrow biopsy. As I wait for the results, I realize that there is probably a reason why the standard is only to do three rounds of chemo. I don't think I can go through a fourth round of chemo, no matter what the results show. I'm not strong enough, either physically or mentally. I wonder if chemo is actually even supposed to do anything for me. Maybe it's supposed to make me suffer so much that death seems like a nice option in comparison.

So all I do is pray that the cancer is gone. There is nothing more I can do.

I wait the obligatory three days for the biopsy to be analyzed, so tired but unable to sleep, with all the worry and nervousness. But when Doctor Park walks in with the charts grimly and asks Changmin to leave the so that we can talk, I know that the news isn't good.

He helps me sit up for the talk, then pulls up the stool next to me and sits down so that we are at eye level.

"Yunho," he says gently. "We need to have a serious talk."

I look up.

"You're not getting better as quickly as we'd hoped," he says quietly. "I don't think we'll ever achieve remission."

I look down.

So he's saying he thinks it's over.

"I think we should move your chemo to palliative, so that you suffer less as... as you go."

My mind is blank. I don't even know what to say.

Palliative.

As an emergency physician, it isn't a word that is all that familiar to me. I was always involved in trying to improve survival, not improve symptoms so that death can be comfortable.

 _Palliative_. What a scary word.

"Think about it," says Doctor Park. "Let me know. Even if you choose the fourth round of chemo, I'd still like to give you another couple weeks' break so that your body gets to rest."

I nod without even realizing it. Doctor Park puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Do you have any questions?"

I am silent for a few moments as I process the thoughts. Then I nod.

"How long do I have?" I whisper.

It's a question that I'm sure he gets all the time. And it's because it's an important question that I have to know the answer to in order to make a good decision.

But Doctor Park shakes his head. "I can't tell you an exact time frame, Yunho. You know that."

I do know that. I know that as a doctor, you're not supposed to tell your patients how long they have. Then they take it as fact of how long they themselves have personally instead of being an average of how long other people have taken.

"I can tell you that you have weeks to months on palliative care. But I can't give you a number on whether or not your condition will improve after another round, Yunho. It's just another chance."

Weeks to months. It's not specific, but it's also not long.

On the other hand, another round of chemo… I shake just thinking about the prospects.

"Do you have any other questions?" he asks. "Or anything you need?"

I shake my head.

"No," I say. "Thank you."

"Let me know if you think of something," he says.

I nod and he gives me an encouraging smile before leaving the room. Even before the door closes behind Doctor Park, Changmin rushes in.

"What? What was it?" he says breathlessly before he has the chance to sit down.

I look into his eyes, so swirling with hope and worry.

I hold out my hand before saying anything, willing for Changmin to take the hand. He does quickly, but only because he wants me to speak. He doesn't urge me though, at least not by speech; but he does fidget with the hand he's holding.

After letting out a long breath, I finally have speech.

"I… I think I'm going to switch to palliative chemo."

Changmin responds harder than I expect him to. He lets go of my hand, and jumps up from the stool he was sitting in.

" _What?_ " he shouts, indignant. "No. I don't care what Doctor Park said. You're not going on palliative chemo!"

"But it hurts so much," I say quietly. "It's so hard."

"You can't give up!" yells Changmin. He takes me by my shoulders. "You have to fight through this!"

"Changmin," I say desperately through my dry lips. "This doesn't have to do with me, and my will to fight cancer. How my body responds is not up to me, it's totally out of my control."

Changmin looks at me with his tear-strung eyes.

"If I die of this, it's not because I'm weak," I say. "It's not because I _lost a battle_ against cancer. I will just have died of cancer. It has nothing to do with my will to live or die."

"But you're talking about giving up on the rest of your chemo, you –"

"Because if I'm going to go anyway, I want to go in peace, Changmin," I explain gently.

"Don't say that," he croaks. "Don't."

"You have to come to terms with the fact that I might – no, probably will, die," I say. I hate how harsh I sound, but no matter what happens, I don't want Changmin to be too caught off guard. Because I know how hard that can be.

"No," whispers Changmin. "Please. Please."

"Changmin, _I can't control this_ ," I remind him. "If I had my way, I would stay alive and… and be with you and Hojoon. And I'd try to do something more with my life. But… But I don't have my way. And that's just what life is."

I sigh and hold out my hands, hoping that Changmin would take them.

But he doesn't. Instead, he stand from the stool.

"I'm going to go for a walk. I'll be right back," he declares, then he's out the door before I can stop him.  
  
  
  
  
I feel better in some ways as days pass. I'm only throwing up a couple times a night now, and the sores in my mouth are starting to hurt less.

But at some point, Changmin stopped letting me look into a mirror. He covers up the mirror in the bathroom with a towel, and he's taken the hand-held mirror that had been sitting on the bedside table since that day when he made me look at myself, and he has put it away into his suitcase again.

And at some point, Changmin stopped looking at my face. The only time he gets close to looking in my eyes is when he's helping me clean my face or helping me eat. I try looking in his eyes in that time, but he never meets them. He just does what he has to, then he's back, looking away from me again. We haven't exchanged smiles with each other in so long because of it.

And at some point, Changmin started crying in the middle of the night, when he thinks I'm sleeping. He doesn't sob. But I can hear him sniffling, and his irregular breaths, and I can see his dark silhouette wiping tears.

I know that this is harder for him than it is for me. And I just want him to stop torturing himself, and I want him to just… let himself rest.

So one day, after insisting to him that I could eat breakfast by myself and convincing him that I could go to the bathroom without his help, I look at him and speak, even though he's not looking back at me.

"Hey," I say. He still doesn't look at me. I give him some time to see if he'll finally look at me, but he doesn't. So I just continue on. "You… You really don't have to look after me. It's not your responsibility. We're… just housemates."

Changmin frowns a little. He lets a long silence permeate. I fiddle with my fingers, then speak at my hands. "You should go home, and get back to work."

Changmin lets out a deep sigh, cutting me off.

"…Is that really all I am to you?" he asks calmly. "A housemate? After all we've been through together?"

I can't answer that question. But I tell him what I mean. "I know we've been through a lot together," I say quietly. "But this is something I can go through alone."

Changmin doesn't say anything. I know that internally, he must really want to go home and get a good night's rest, and probably go back to work.

He sighs.

"Think about it," I suggest. "I really want you go to home."

Changmin pretends he didn't hear and stares at the TV.

"I just want you to spend time with people who might actually have a chance at getting better."

Changmin ignores me again.

I sigh and turn to the TV too, grunting as I have to reposition my head.

I'm not watching, and neither is Changmin.

We're silent.

But a few moments later, Changmin flicks off the TV with the remote and suddenly gets to his feet. And then he turns to me. He's still not looking in my face, but he is smiling. I hadn't seen him smile in a long time, so I'm happy to see it.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" asks Changmin brightly.

I look at him weakly. I don't really feel like I can go on one. I'm tired, and I can barely even keep my thoughts straight. I take a breath to tell him that, but he looks so hopeful. So expectant. And I don't want to let him down.

"Okay," I whisper. Changmin beams happily, and I almost find the strength to smile back. He holds out his hand for me to take, and he carefully sits me up.

"We'll only go as long as you're not tired," says Changmin. "We'll come right back when you feel tired."

I nod in compliance and clenching my teeth in concentration, I get to my feet shakily. Changmin supports me as he walks me so painfully slowly out of the room and then to the elevators. I'm nervous. I haven't been outside the building in almost a month, and I'm scared that I won't be able to make it back because I'm so weak. But as soon as I step out into the hospital's courtyard, I forget all of that.

It's spring.

The cherry blossoms blow in the soft wind, and it looks like snow. I feel at peace, and I'm glad I came out with Changmin. The tranquility of mind that I'm getting is worth all the pain in my body. I let out a long breath, and a small smile hovers around my lips.

I'm at peace. I let out a breath. I take in the scent of the sweet blossoms and I carefully slip my hand into Changmin's. He takes it and squeezes it.

I take slow, small step after slow, small step, trying not to focus on how draining the exercise is. Instead, I put all of my energy into enjoying this calm, pacifying moment with Changmin, stepping over the light pink petals of the cherry blossoms.

I almost feel as if I'm being healed.

Only a few moments later though, I feel something bump into me from the back. If I hadn't been sick, I would barely even have felt it as a nudge; but today, it is enough for me to lose my balance and fall forward. Changmin barely keeps me from falling over, supporting me by holding me around the middle. After he rights me, I look around at what it was that knocked into me. And I realize that it's a young girl, maybe three or four years old, who had been running around without looking at where she was going. I stare into her face and she looks up at mine. I am about to offer her a smile when she suddenly lets out a long, ear-piercing scream.

"Mommy!" she shouts, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

I look at her in shock.

"It's a monster, mommy!"

A pain shoots through my chest.

I can't even move for how shocked I am.

I just made a child cry because of how I looked.

I feel stiff all over, like I can't take another step, and I feel my face growing hot with embarrassment.

I let out a breath, and hang my head. I really shouldn't be out here, if only for the sake of keeping children from nightmares.

I look over at Changmin. His face is red too, and his teeth clenched. I try to hold Changmin's hand again, but he's not letting me this time. So I tug on his sleeve.

"I'm getting tired," I whisper. "Let's go back."

"Just a sec," he grinds out.

"Changmin, you promised…"

"Just wait," he snaps.

It's probably my crystal-fragile state of mind, but the fact that Changmin is yelling at me pierces through my heart too.

"Changmin," I whisper, pleading into his eyes, which still aren't looking at me.

"Excuse me, but how exactly are you teaching your child?" yells Changmin, ignoring me.

I turn my back on Changmin and the heated argument he's started with the girl's mother.

I'm too tired and too sick to get into an argument in which nothing but sharp words will be thrown around. I don't have enough time left to care about something like that.

I can still hear Changmin's raised voice from halfway across the courtyard as I reach the entrance of the cancer centre again.

I stumble back into my little hospital room and sit down on the bed, shaken and breathing hard.

I swallow and take in everything that has just happened. And although I'm not sure what is compelling me, but I suddenly stand and walk to Changmin's suitcase. I unzip it and dig through his things until I find what I'm looking for: the mirror that he had hidden away.

I walk to the bed again and sit down. And then I look in the mirror.

I lose my breath. I am not prepared to see what I do.

My eyes are bugging out of their sockets, and my twenty-six-year-old face is full of wrinkles. All of the fat and muscle in my face and body is gone, and my cheeks are sunken in. I still have no hair, and I've lost my eyebrows and eyelashes now. My lips are cracked and rough, and my cheekbones are jutting out.

I tilt my head to the side to make sure that this is really me.

The reflection also tilts its head to the side.

And at the same time that my eyes begin to prickle with hot tears, tears also appear in the eyes of that foreign reflection.

I shake my head.

"Who are you?" I whisper.

The reflection doesn't answer. It continues to look straight back at me in all of its broken, repulsive ugliness.

I hate myself. I hate everything about myself.

I hate how weak and sick I am, and I hate how burdensome I've always been to the people who love me. And now, I even hate what I've become.

I look straight in my own eyes in the mirror, disgust welling up in my chest.

"You shouldn't even be living," I whisper. "Please just die already."

I can hear Changmin's angry footsteps approaching my room, but I don't look up from the mirror, not even when the door opens and Changmin barges in.

When he sees me on the bed with the mirror, he loses it.

"Fuck, Jung Yunho," says Changmin angrily. He snatches the mirror away from my hands.

"Give it back," I say in a broken voice. A tear falls.

"No," says Changmin through clenched teeth.

"Give it back. I need to – "

"Yunho," he says firmly. "Don't listen to her. Don't. She's a child, she doesn't know better!"

"They don't know to filter their words, but that means they're honest!"

"No," seethes Changmin. "No. She's not _honest_ , she's insensitive and –"

"And she's _right_!" I yell. "She's right! I look as poorly as I feel, and I'm nothing short of a monster, I – "

"No!" shouts Changmin, grasping my shoulders. "No, stop it! I told you, you're beautiful!"

" _Stop lying to me!_ " I scream.

"I'm not lying to you, you're the most beautiful person I've ever – "

"I know I'm not beautiful," I say, voice shaking. "I may not be able to do a lot of things anymore, but I can still look at myself in the mirror and see that I'm not beautiful. So stop lying to me."

I look away from Changmin and look at my hands instead. Even there, I'm just skin and bones.

I shake my head.

I can't let Changmin waste his time on me. On _this_.

"Please," I whisper. "Please just… go on with your life."

There's a second or two of silence.

"No," says Changmin, and I can hear that he's trying to keep himself from crying, too.

I turn my head to look at Changmin, to show him my face in all of its ugliness.

"Look at me," I say, tears falling steadily. Changmin looks away, and I reach forward and grab his shoulder roughly. " _Look_ at me."

Changmin turns his head and finally looks me in the eyes. It doesn't take him long to look away. And I know. I know that Changmin can't even look at me for how ugly I am. I pull him again so that he will look at me again. And he does.

"You are wasting months, maybe years of your life on _this_."

I glare at him.

"Do something better with your life."

Changmin doesn't make a sound while I get under the covers and turn away from him. So I don't know how Changmin is reacting. There is silence as I continue to sniffle. And then I hear a loud bang that makes me flinch.

I sit up and realize that the bang had been Changmin kicking the couch back to where it had been before he moved it closer to the bed. He yanks open his suitcase.

"Okay. Okay, Jung Yunho," says Changmin angrily. He's not looking at me. "Okay. Go ahead and die alone. I'll just go on with my wonderful life without you."

I find myself nodding timidly.

"You know, I have a ton of shit to do," says Changmin, throwing everything into his suitcase. I flinch as he throws his books inside, pages crumpling. "I have bills to pay, you know, now that you've stopped paying your half of the bills. I have money to make."

I clench my fists.

"I'm going to be so rich because I'm leaving you to die alone right now. So fucking rich."

He closes the suitcase with a bang and straightens up. He turns around to glare at me.

"Have a good life," says Changmin with a final glare. "Whatever's left of it, anyway."

My eyes go wide without even realizing it. It's hard to think that as much as I love Changmin, that he's saying this.

He picks up the suitcase and stomps out of the room.

And when his angry footsteps can no longer be heard, I lie back down on the bed. Then I start sobbing for the first time I was diagnosed with cancer.  
  
  
  
  
I can't stop. I can't stop crying.

It's as if everything I've been holding in has finally burst, and the tears just won't stop. I really wish someone was here to hug me, to tell me how much they loved me and to comfort me, and hold me while I cry.

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" asks Doctor Park.

I barely have enough in me to shake my head.

"I – I'm fine."

Doctor Park looks skeptical. He looks around a bit, then he frowns. "Where's Changmin?"

I cough out a few more sobs then tell him. "He left," I whisper. "I asked him to leave."

"You want him back?" he asks.

I can't respond for a few minutes. But then I shake my head. "N – No, I don't want to – to ever see him again."

He sighs gently. "Did you fight?"

I shake my head again. "No, I – I just asked him to – to leave because – I want him to just – live his life."

I then look up at him.

"Can you – make sure that they don't let him – him in if he – decides to come back?"

He seems hesitant. "Yunho… you're at the point in your life where you should start thinking more about yourself and how you'll be happy instead of thinking about the well-being of others."

"The – the sooner Changmin lives a normal life again, the happier I'll be," I whisper.

Doctor Park reaches to wipe a tear. I turn away so that I can do it myself. He sighs.

"Okay, Yunho. If you're sure."

I nod and grip onto the sheets with my bony hands.

"You don't have to be a martyr," says Doctor Park.

"I know, and I'm not trying to be," I whisper. "I'm just… trying to be a decent human being."

He sighs yet again. "Okay," he assures me. "He won't come into your room before an okay from you."

I nod. "Thank you."

Doctor Park nods and pats my arm. Then he leaves the room, leaving me alone.  
  
  
  
  
I don't sleep that night. I have too much to think about.

I carefully weigh the pros and cons of palliative care. I carefully weigh the pros and cons of dying sooner rather than later.

And I realize that now, there are very few cons to palliative care.

I would probably miss my brother getting into med school, but then I know he'll get in, and I know he's smart and strong… plus, I don't want to be even more of a burden to him than I've already been. If he is going to find out that I'm going to die, I'd rather die sooner rather than later so that he doesn't agonize over it.

I try to make sure that this isn't a spur-of-the-moment decision of Changmin leaving, and it really isn't. I'm just in too much physical pain, and I know that not even Changmin can make it better. I simply cannot go through another round of chemo, and I have to draw the line on when enough is enough. And what I've done – which I'm beyond proud of myself for– is enough.

This is it. I've done enough. I've done as much as I can.

I reach for the call button on the side of my bed that would page the nurses and the attending to my bedside. Just one tear rolls down my face as I press it.  
  
  
  
  
Coming to terms with your death doesn't mean that you want to die. I still wish I were healthy. I wish I were healthy again so that I would have the courage to tell Changmin that I loved him and not feel guilty, watch my brother get into med school and congratulate him when he does. I wish I could go back to work and really make a difference in a patient's life. Coming to terms with your death means that while you still have regrets, you are okay with the fact that your life wasn't perfect. It's a bit hard for a perfectionist like me, but I guess I will have to do. I am so terribly imperfect and human after all.

I know what it means as a loved one to lose someone, too. I think it might even be harder than dying myself. And knowing that my brother knows the pain that goes into being able to come to terms with a loved one's death, I put it off for longer than I should. Much too long. I don't think Hojoon's ever going to forgive me.

Changmin is a bit different. Unless there's a story he hasn't told me, he hasn't experienced a loved one's death. I'm not sure if he loves me as much as I love him, but if he does, I don't think he's ever going to forgive me either. I just… don't think he does. If he did, then he would have said something in the decade that we lived with each other. Changmin had taken care of me out of loyalty and friendship – not love.

And it's his loyalty that brings him back to the hospital for me. Only a day later, there is commotion outside of my room. I hear yelling and scuffles, and I open my tired eyes. I think I can make out Changmin's voice and several nurses'. I don't know what's going on until the door slides open.

"Yunho. Your friend Changmin is insisting that he sees you," says the nurse that has just walked in.

I shake my head. "No," I whisper. "I want to be alone."

When the nurse turns back, I hear her yell firmly, "The patient says no, I can't let you in!"

" _Bullshit_ , he's lived with me for ten years, there's no reason – "

"Excuse me, but I'm going to have to call security if you continue to be a disturbance!"

"I just want to take care of a loved one before he dies! Why won't you let me do that _? Just get – the fuck – out of the way_!"

"Security!"

"Just ask him again, because you're fucking incompetent, I swear to God, he would never – "

The nurse takes another step back and I can see her face again.

"Yunho?" she asks once more in exasperation.

"Yunho, please!" I hear Changmin cry from out of sight. " _Please_!"

I look up into the nurse's face. She looks distraught. She just wants an answer.

"No," I whisper.

She nods and closes the door again.

And I know that that was the last time that I would ever hear Changmin's voice.

I'm saddened that it had to be in such an ugly way.  
  
  
  
  
I don't hear from or about Changmin for a couple of days, except a few minute after the scuffle outside my door, when the nurse says, "I've sent him home."

I smile and thank her, but I wonder what will be the thing to kill me. The cancer or my broken heart.

I kind of wish I'd taken a few more pictures of Changmin when he was here, talking to me. I miss him terribly as I trudge about the day, exhausted and really, barely holding on.

I wish I had recorded his voice, and him smiling.

I get my wish a couple of days later though, when the nurse, exasperated as she is, comes into my room and hands me a video tape.

"Changmin left this for you," she sighs. "He asked me to make sure that you see it, but of course," she says, rolling her eyes, "it's all up to you whether or not you want to see it."

She approaches the bed and places the video tape on my lap.

She then leaves the room with a sigh and a shake of her head.

When I'm alone again on my bed, I pick up the video tape in my hands and touch it along its edges. I take in the touches.

This is probably the last thing Changmin will give me.

I just hold it in my hands, staring at it, touching it. I hold it against my heart, and then against my cheek, and then I bury it in my arms.

I wonder or not if I should play it.

I think it's probably best not to. It's probably of him saying hurtful words for what happened, or of him trying to convince me to let him in again.

I don't watch it for as long as I can. I last exactly two hours.

I give in just because I miss his beautiful voice so much, and I just want to hear his voice again.

I sit up gingerly. It takes me a long time. It's so tiring to even walk across my room now. I slowly stand on my weak legs. I clutch at the bed rails to stop myself from falling over as I move to the TV.

When I manage to turn it on, Changmin is there in the TV screen against the familiar couch and wall of our apartment. He looks tired though. He also looks sick and sad. He sighs and takes a deep breath before looking up into the camera to speak. My heart breaks even before he opens his mouth to say anything.  
  
  
 _Okay. Um… okay._

_I'm… Wow. Um…_

_Hey. Um… So I'm just… not sure… what really to say._

_Uh… well, I guess, firstly, I'm sorry for the… I don't even know what to call it. I… I wasn't mad at you. I was just… mad at life. Because it's so… so bullshit, and I was just so mad. I know it doesn't justify what I did, at all, so… I don't know. I'm just… really sorry. I really have no other words._

_I should just have explained myself. I meant… I don't care what you look like. What you look like doesn't change who you are. You're still the same person, Yunho. Never… Never forget that._

_If we count the number of hours, I mean, I've definitely spent more time with you than with anyone else. And well… the possibility that I could lose you is… It's really scary to me. So… Actually, no. I don't even know what I'm trying to say. Never mind._

_Um, I'd really do this thing over because it's a mess, but I don't think I can. It's too… mushy and shit. So… um, sorry. And… And… just for the record, I wasn't lying when I said you were beautiful._

_Um… So… see you. Hopefully._

_Love you. Bye._  
  
  
Changmin blows a kiss at the camera, and forces out a smile.

And then the TV screen is blank. And I'm doing all I can to keep myself from sobbing out loud, just because I want him here more than anything else in the world, but I know that it would be best for him if he just forgot that I existed.  
  
  
  
  
Not having support by your deathbed is hard. Eating is hard. Going to the bathroom is hard. Sleeping, waking up, staying alive, dying… all of it is hard.

I'm just waiting to die, and it's not until the nurse enters almost a week later that I see anyone besides the doctors and nurses. The door opens, which I'm surprised about, because they've been leaving me alone except at specific times when they would feed me or give me my medications.

"Yunho, there's someone here to see you," she says, poking her head in.

"I'm not going to see Changmin," I whisper.

The nurse looks at me. "He says he's your brother."

My eyes grow wide. "I… I never told him. He – he doesn't know."

She shrugs. "Well, he's here, Yunho."

I hesitate.

And before I can give an answer yes or no, Hojoon appears behind the nurse's shoulder.

"Hyung."

The sight of my little brother brings tears to my eyes. He walks in and the nurse leaves. The door closes behind her, and it's just me and Hojoon in the room.

"Changmin called," he says quietly. "He said you were really… sick and you had no one taking care of you."

My heart breaks.

I've failed this beautiful baby boy, in so many ways. From making his parents share their love for him with me and not being proper support for him when he most needed it, to not telling him about my death only to have him find out during some of the busiest times of his life and finally dying on him, leaving him with literally no family left in the world.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he says. He looks so sad and so disappointed, and for good reason.

I hold out my hand. If I had enough strength to get on my knees for him, I would have.

Hojoon slowly walks forward and gets close enough to touch me. And as soon as he takes my hand, the tears begin to flow again.

"I'm so sorry," I manage, squeezing Hojoon's hand. Tears finally flow from my eyes. "I'm so sorry baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

And I'm crying, because I'm so sorry. I hate the thought that I'm burdening him with even more, and I hate the fact that I can't change it. I'm so sorry that I was so focused on myself that I never got to pay any attention to him.

"I'm so sorry," I repeat over and over.

Hojoon isn't crying. He holds my frail body in his arms carefully, but firmly. He hugs me close and lets me sob into his shoulder.

"You've been so strong and brave for me my whole life," he whispers. He squeezes me. "Now I'll be strong and brave for you."

That only makes me cry harder.  
  
  
  
  
"I would have told you sooner, you know?" I whisper. "I just…"

"I know, Changmin told me," says Hojoon, giving me the bed bath that the nurses have neglected since Changmin left. "I'm not upset."

Hojoon's care is more tender than anything I've gotten since Changmin left. I appreciate it. I appreciate that Hojoon loves me enough to do this. But I'm worried.

"You – should go to – school," I whisper.

Hojoon smiles as he wipes my forehead. "That's not what's important right now."

"It – it _is_ , though," I insist.

Hojoon smiles as he wipes my cheek with the warm rag. "I can decide for myself what's important, hyung. I'm an adult after all."

I close my eyes in guilt floods in.

He's right. He's an adult… but he's always been my baby.

If I could die right now, I would, just to stop being a burden on the people I love.

"You should really – leave," I urge.

"Why?" he urges gently. "I'm not allowed to love you?"

"You're not… allowed to love me so much that… that you'll sacrifice yourself," I say.

"And why are _you_ allowed to love me and Changmin so much that you'd rather not have either of us at your deathbed?"

I don't reply. I guess I'm too tired to speak right now. Or I don't know what to say.

But I do have to ask him the question.

"How is Changmin doing?" I whisper.

Hojoon looks like he's debating whether or not to tell me the truth. And then he puts down the rag that he's cleaning me with.

"Not good."

My heart breaks. "I – I wanted him to leave so that he could – he could go to work, and – and live his life."

Hojoon chuckles a little. "You really think he can just… do that when he can't even see you?"

"I – I won't think any less of him if he decides to live his life again."

"But he loves you," he says with a small sigh.

I fist the white sheets in my fists, hard.

"I…"

Hojoon smiles. "You don't have to have him here if you don't want him here though. This is supposed to be for you."

I don't want to cry again, but I can't help it.

Hojoon finally looks so grown up and big.

Maybe he did grow up. Maybe it's okay not to worry about him anymore.

Maybe he's so strong now that I can rely on him.

"Ho – joon…" I whine, tears forming.

"Yeah, hyung," he assures me. "Yeah."

I don't know what I want him to do. He can't make any of this mess that I've created better. He shouldn't have to make it better.

"Can I get a hug?" I ask, stretching out my arms towards him.

Hojoon chuckles again and takes me into his arms. I sink myself into his warm, genuine embrace.

"I've messed up," I whisper. Tears are wetting his shoulder. "I'm – I'm – "

"You're the most amazing and inspiring person in the world," finishes Hojoon.

"No, I'm not," I sob. "I'm so weak and – ugly – and – "

"You're my amazing big brother," says Hojoon. He runs his hand lovingly and caringly down my back. "We'll fix this."

My thin fingers grasp at his shoulder, clinging on for support.

"Please fix this, Hojoon… please help me fix this," I whine. "Please."

"I will," he promises. He leans forward, and I feel his warm, soft lips on my forehead. "Don't worry."  
  
  
  
  
Hojoon has made me up so that I would look pretty for Changmin. He bathes me, and put a white hat over my head to hide my bald head. And then he dresses me so that I'm out of the hospital gown that makes me look even sicker than I already am. My brother helps me into a white, well-ironed shirt, and a pair of black dress pants. I'm swimming in my clothes; both are too big for me now.

"Hojoon…" I whisper, unsure of whether it would be enough for Changmin.

Hojoon smiles. And I can see all of the emotion in his eyes.

I see what I imagined to see in my parents would see me as when I graduated from university, first donned my white coat, and finally could put an M.D. at the end of my name: pride.

"You look so nice, hyung," Hojoon says in his warm, gentle voice.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I smile.  
  
  
  
  
I'm suffering when the door slides open carefully and Changmin, dressed up in a suit too and carrying a bouquet of flowers, steps in.

Every part of my body hurts and I'm so tired and I'm so sick.

I can't stop myself from crying anymore, because everything is so painful.

I hate my body for making me suffer, and I hate myself for not being able to stand it.

And at this moment, as Changmin lets out a whimper and takes me into his arms, I would be quite okay with dying.

I would be okay with dying, except that someone I love is crying with me, cradling me, trying to ease my suffering.

And so, at this moment, I want so much to live.

But this is no fairytale.

So I figure I should take this time to tell him what I want to.

"I-I love y-you, you know?" I whisper.

Changmin laughs through his tears and hands me the flowers. I take them and hold them in my arms. I breathe in the scent, then bury my face in his shirt.

"I love you too," murmurs Changmin.

My heart melts as I close my eyes.

I'm again reminded of how blessed I've been in my life, to have people always beside me, and always forgive me for everything I've done wrong.

Changmin's lips press against my own, and he caresses my face carefully.

"You're so, so beautiful," he murmurs. He has a proud grin about his face.

I smile.

I believe him. I know I'm beautiful.

"S-So are you," I offer.

Changmin rolls his eyes. "I know, silly."

I raise my eyebrows and Changmin laughs and leans in closer.

"I'm just kidding," he whispers.

I smile. "I-I'm not."

He kisses me again on the corner of my mouth, and I snuggle up, closer to him. He embraces me, holding me protectively around my shoulders.

"May I sing you a lullaby?" asks Changmin.

I nod, and tighten my grip on his shirt. "P-Please," I whisper. I'm ready to rest.

Changmin chuckles and holds my hand so that I'm holding his hand instead of his shirt.

I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, Changmin's soft, beautiful voice caressing my ears.  
  
  
 _You were the star in my grey sky_

_We were waiting here for the sun to shine_

_You asked me if this would end_

_You were crying_   
  
_Now I see you tonight_

_And I feel you tonight_

_And I need you_

_Tonight_   
  
_Fly the night_

_Away to the place where our dreams belong_

_For you and I_

_Fly away_

 

 

 

 

_\- fin._

 

 

 

_Notes:_

For those of you who may be new to me and my work, I am studying in medical school at the moment. This story came about as I learned about leukemia.

One of the things that shocks me is that there is such little awareness of bone marrow donation, but the fact that bone marrow transplants could be the only cure for certain leukemias. When I learned about the bone marrow donation process, I put myself on the registry right away. It is a very non-strenuous process, and you are making no commitments should you put yourself on the registry. Now I know that there are some countries (notably in Europe) where there is a very high level of awareness for bone marrow donation, but I also know that there may not be much awareness in other parts of the world... so with the small amount of readership I have, I wanted to ask you for a favour; please consider putting yourself on the bone marrow donation registry.

Donating bone marrow sounds like a scary process, but it isn't. Being on the registry is as easy as mailing in a cheek swab, and if needed, donation is as easy as giving blood (this means there will most likely be no drilling into hip bone for bone marrow; the mainstream way for donation now is to get a medication called G-CSF to mobilize your bone marrow cells into your bloodstream then take peripheral blood, probably from your arm).

Your donation could save a life. Please, please, _please_ take a moment to explore your bone marrow donation options.

[Canada ](http://www.blood.ca/CentreApps/Internet/UW_V502_MainEngine.nsf/page/you_can_be_the_one_match_to_save_a_life?)/ [Quebec](https://www.hema-quebec.qc.ca/cellules-souches/donneur/index.en.html)

[United States](http://bethematch.org/)

[Australia](http://www.abmdr.org.au/)

[Singapore](http://bmdp.org/)

[Korea](http://www.konos.go.kr/konosis/index.jsp)

[United Kingdom](http://www.nhsbt.nhs.uk/bonemarrow/)

Don't see your country listed? Click [here ](http://www.bmdw.org/index.php?id=addresses_members&no_cache=1)and search by country.

 

Thanks so much for reading and please don't forget to leave me your thoughts.

 

Thank you,

Janie


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